Secret Diary of Ghost 11
by VintagexBeau
Summary: The following sessions are pages from logs I was supposed to turn in periodically, but decided they were far too valuable to be given up.
1. Teeth

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Thirteen Ghosts, nor its characters.

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Secret Diary of Ghost 11

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_My name is Abigail Frost. I'm working for an insane man who goes by the name Frost. No relation, thankfully, we just happened to have the same last name. The following sessions are pages from logs I was supposed to turn in periodically, but decided they were much to valuable to be given up. All sessions are from one particular ghost we have trapped downstairs. One would think I'd be freaked out beyond understanding, however, I'm not that much of a stranger to the ghouls roaming aimlessly..._

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Session One: Teeth

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I pull the chair in front of his 'room' and prepare for another long, crude, and uneventful logging period. It's been almost two months that I've been interviewing Ghost 11 and I still haven't gotten any personal information from him. It really is annoying, because Frost has been breathing down my damn neck for something. It's honestly easier said then done. This guy is sick. All he ever does is scratch at the walls and look at me in a way that makes me grateful those four walls keep him from coming at me.

I open the notepad and notice he hasn't slammed his body against the wall, like he usually does. Instead, he's sulking in a corner, the one farthest away from me, and he doesn't even seem to be acknowledging me. Looking down at the wristwatch, even though I _know_ we've barely begun our session, I groan quietly and bite the inside of my cheek. I sigh and scribble his current condition onto the notepad.

The next twenty minutes is spent in silence and I begin to think that maybe he's sleeping. I sigh, again, though a little louder than last time, in the hopes of possibly catching his attention. But nothing. I shake my head and cross my legs, leaning back against the chair.

"Talking usually makes people feel better."

No answer.

"...I'm not going anywhere for..." I stop to glance down at the time, "...another three hours and thirty-seven minutes."

Again, no response.

Sigh. "Fine, I guess I'll fill the time with my introduction, again." I brush the hair from my face, "Hi. My name is Abigail. I'm twenty-one years old. I used to be a college kid, but for some strange reason I decided to ditch the educational road for a life of danger and wonder."

The sarcasm drips from every word that leaves my mouth and I still get no reaction from Ghost 11. I frown standing from my seat, leaving behind the notepad, and walk towards his corner. Tapping against the glass, I earn a nasty look from the disheveled man and I strain myself to remain glued to my spot. "You're boring. Could you at least claw at the wall so I can have something to write in the log."

_"Piss off."_

'I guess that's a start,' I think, rolling my eyes and moving a bit closer. "Wow. This is the first time you've spoken, granted a bit rude, but still."

His eyes are on me now. My basic instinct tells me to move as far as I possibly can from the cell, but instead I inch another step closer. He looks like a complete mess. I don't know why Frost is so interested in this one. It's not like he's the only ghost in the basement. His hair is wild. His face pale and scarred. His teeth...God their the worse.

"So, can we continue talking?"

He glares,_ "Leave, slut."_

"You know I can't. I'm stuck down here until our four hours are up. The doors lock as soon as I step down the first flight of stairs and don't unlock until our time is up." I wander closer and take in his appearance, once again.

He stands and leers down, being a head taller than myself, at me with a uncomfortable smirk on his lips. I stop moving and watch with caution. He closes the gap between us and just stands there. I gulp and narrow my eyes, trying to look brave, but obviously failing. His eyes seem to travel everywhere, for a brief second or two, and then suddenly lock with my own. The hair on the back of my neck stands and I stop myself from looking away or moving, afraid of breaking contact and losing the battle.

_"...You're no different then the rest of them."_

I blink, loosing the imaginary battle, and cock my head to the side. "Them? Who are 'them'?"

He grins and a nauseated feeling overwhelmed my body. I stare, openly, at his disgusting teeth and hold my composure. His teeth are large, but for some strange reason they fit him perfectly. Their colors range from yellow, to red stained, and even blotches of black. A few are chipped, while others seem to have been filed sharp, needle like. They were terrifying, but unique, in a crazy kind of way. Moving away from his retched teeth, I take note at the pasty blue colored skin, large round nose, eyes filled with angry, and the markings around his face.

_"You're one of those freaks they hire."_

I glare at him, but nod. "So I am." His fist slams against the protection glass and I jump back from the sudden outburst of anger. My defiance is long gone, but I'm also slowly losing control of my temper. "How did you know?"

His hand suddenly moves from his side and an inhuman talon gently clips the side of his face.

My own hand mimics his action and my fingers grace against the rim of the glasses. They aren't your average run of the mill once everyone uses around the, for lack of a better word, office. Although altered into looking like everyone else, these were only plastic and held fake glass. Fake spectral frames. I didn't need those to see _them_. But how did he know? I frown at him, "What about them."

He laughs, loudly and darkly, and turns away from me.

I stand there, dumbfounded. How the hell can he tell their fake? I've been working with Frost for almost an entire year and he has never noticed. Removing the glasses and tossing them onto the chair as I maneuver myself in front of him, I glare at him and pound against the glass. "You know. How?"

He gives me a Cheshire grin and I cringe at the sight of his teeth. I take steps back, unable to maintain a strong facade, as he moves closer towards the thick wall separating us. I expect him to laugh at me again, but instead he just stands there, staring at me, better yet, _critiquing_ me like a piece of meat on display.

_"I can smell a freak a mile away and you..."_ he briefly pauses and presses his caged head against the cool glass _"...smell so delicious."_

I flinch back, completely disgusted and horrified by his words. "You're repulsive." I whisper back.

He howls once again and I decide to end our session early. Quickly placing the frames back in place, I snatch the notepad and glare behind me. His eyes are staring right back at me, filled with an unpleasant emotion. I don't care that I still have about another two hours left, I'd sit near to entrance or entertain myself with one of the other ghosts. But I can't stay here, not with him staring at me like that.

He seems ready to sink his teeth into me.

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R&R.


	2. Monster

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Thirteen Ghosts, nor its characters.

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Secret Diary of Ghost 11

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_I'm returning for another visit with Ghost 11, it's been almost a month since I've last interacted with him. Unfortunately, or fortunately seeing as how our last tryst had ended, I won't alone this session. Jake, an arrogant, self-centered jackass, tagged along for the ride. I've had to write what I remembered this time, since there was no way I could make a copy with Jake looming over my shoulder the entire time..._

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Session Two: Monster

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I continue to remain seated, albeit a bit farther from his cell than the previous sessions, and watch as Jake hovers around the annoyed ghost. I hate Jake. I wish Frost hadn't practically forced me to endure four hours with the pain in the ass. If Jake didn't constantly have that little 'I'm-better-that-you' attitude all day and night, I might, and that a pretty tiny _might_, have considered being nice to him every now and then. But that goddamn attitude of his can sour anyones day.

He circles the cell, tapping a few times against the glass to get a reaction from Ghost 11, and final pauses in front of me, back towards me and completely blocking my view.

"I'm surprised you haven't figured anything out, Abigail."

'Yeah, well I'm surprised you remembered my name,' I think darkly, rolling my eyes at his tone of voice. It's uppity, filled with arrogance, and he's _obviously_ trying to get me upset. I stand from the chair and shrug my shoulders, intentionally clipping his shoulder with my notepad. "What can I say, he's a tough cookie to crack."

He scoffs and mutters something under his breath. I ignore it and briefly skim Ghost 11's appearance. He's standing in the center of his room, in a position I've never really seen him in. Slightly hunched over, legs parted and firmly planted on the floor, his hands are by his side, but they seem tense, and his eyes wild, clouded by some... ominous emotion. I pull away, discretely, and write a few things in the pad.

Jake sighs, "What a waste of time. If I had been placed to watch this... monster, I would have been done the first month." I continue writing, but glare at the older brunette. He paces around cell and clicks his tongue against his teeth. "I can't believe you haven't picked up on the fact that its obviously insane. An asylum patient."

I lull my head towards his direction, "I'm not stupid. You're right, it is very noticeable, and Frost already knows that little bit of information, so there is no need to repeat it to him." I see Jake's jaw clench. Point for me, zip for Jake. Pushing aside the hateful stare of Jake, I brush the loose strands of hair from my face and debate on my next action. I decide to stroke Jake's ego, "A month, huh? Then let me see you're magic."

I glance down at the wristwatch, less than two hours to go until the doors open again. Taking my seat again, I notice the air around Jake suddenly shifts He smirks and stares briefly at me before returning his full attention towards the caged ghost.

The room is quiet for awhile and when Jake suddenly pounds against the glass, I can't help but jump. "What's your name."

My eyes dart to the crazed looking man and I try to read his expression, but like usual it gives nothing away. His posture seems to grow even more rigid as his discomfort becomes more apparent. My stare drops to his hands and I notice that his talons begin to twitch, almost as if he ready to strike. I vaguely hear Jake repeat the question, with a more authoritative tone and the addition of another hard slap against the glass. With my eyes are still glued to the prisoner, I see his jaw clench and he jumps at the man, the noise of his sharp claws screeching against the glass fills the basement.

I flinch and briefly steal a glance at Jake. His own annoyance can be read of his face like an open book. Looking back at Ghost 11, I catch him giving off a satisfied smirk and I can feel my stomach turn at the sight of those unsightly decaying teeth.

I suppress my own smirk from making itself known and watch as Jake curses at the lunatic in the box. His eyes abruptly turn towards me, anger and humiliation clearly visible, and he points an accusing finger at me, a silent command for me to keep quiet or possibly daring me to make a taunting comment. I break contact and stare at the ghost. He's grinning and he suddenly throws his head back, emitting a frightening howl that echoes throughout the basement.

I vaguely hear the voices of the other ghouls housed in the basement, Jake doesn't seem to notice.

Instead, Jake yells his question again, but by this point I've completely blocked out his voice. I remain staring at _him_. He has positioned his body in an odd angle, forcing half his body towards Jake and half towards me. Although he seems to be keeping an eye on both of us, I can't help but notice how a majority of his face remains with me. He's ignoring Jake, just like I am.

Unfortunately for me, Jake notices and makes his way to my side. He grips my upper arm and forces me out of my seat. The notepad is dropped to the floor and, from the amount of unnecessary strength used, so are my frames.

I instantly look away from the glass cell and glare at Jake, "What the hell!" I pull at my arm and wince as his grip turns painful.

"You're trying to make a fool of me," Jake hisses.

I shake my head and try to pry his hand off me, "What? No. ...Let go." He doesn't comply and I sink my finger nails into his flesh. He flinches, but only slightly, and roughly pushes me towards the opposing wall, effectively knocking the chair on its side and almost causing me to trip over the discarded notepad.

His grip on my arm loosens, but it's replaced by a firm hand around my neck. Another harsh push and my back makes a painful contact with the cold wall. I tense, unnerved by the sudden change of atmosphere and terrified by the possibilities of what Jake may be capable of. We were alone, trapped in a basement for another hour or two, after all and there's no real reason of me to scream to help...

"I still don't see what's so damn intriguing about you," he growls, his hand tightens around my neck. He smirks, darkly, and I begin to panic. "You're useless and pathetic... Frost must only keep you around for a good lay."

He suddenly leans in. I quickly push my head away from him, but instead of the space I so desperately want and need, I earn myself a new bruise as my head makes contact with the unmoving wall. I close my eyes and do what feels natural. The sound of my open palm making contact his his cheek vibrates loudly and his hand around my neck suddenly disappears. I take the opportunity to slip from between him and the wall, snatching the frames from the floor and pushing them back against the bridge of my nose.

I don't need the glasses to see the unpleasant look on the ghosts face, nor do need them to see his eyes narrow in annoyance. "Fuck!" I cry out as I feel a strong arm grab a good portion of my hair and pull me back against a solid wall of muscle.

"_Bitch..._ you'll regret that."

He pushes me to the floor and I'm briefly stunned by the violent thrust. His hand grip the back of my shirt and the tearing of clothing forces me to try to turn onto the back. I swing my hand and make contact with his jaw, while my legs kick aimlessly trying to hit something. I struggle away and hold back a scream as I feel him take yet another hand full of hair. "Get off me, you damn psychopath!"

I raise my arms and elbow Jake in the face. He screams out in pain and I smile to myself, successfully given him a broken nose. His hands are off me and I take the chance to pull myself from the floor. He glares up at me, but I match his ice stare.

I flinch back when my back hits something hold. Glancing over my shoulder, I notice that _he_ is looming over me, but his eyes are glued onto Jake. His talons are on either side of my body and they're scratching against glass. Jake's grunt brings my attention back to him.

"Stay away from me, you sick bastard!" I hiss, pressing myself against the glass as he took a step towards me. "I'll have you fucking fired! You hear me!"

Jake laughs. It's hollow and I wince as he takes yet another step. "Babe, you honestly think anyone will believe a word that comes out of your mouth?" He laughs again. "Who do you think they'll believe? Me, a long time employee, and mighty damn fine one if I don't say so myself. Or you," his eyes dip, giving me a good look, before returning to my face. "Because, just in case you didn't know, everyone knows the only reason you managed to jump from newbie to lead in less then a year is because you're sleeping with the boss himself."

I feel my face burning. Not from embarrassment, because that filthy lie isn't true, but from anger. I glare at him and duck when he suddenly jumps at me. He hits the glass.

Ghost 11 slams his entire body against the glass and screams out, _"She's __**my**__ whore!"_

Jake is distracted by the ghost sudden outburst and it gives me the split second I need to take hold of the toppled chair. I don't want to kill him, just knock him out. I bring the chair down with just enough force and hear an affective grunt, followed by the sound of his body slumping against the glass. Panting, my grip loosens around the chair and I allow it to slide out of my hands. Jake is unconscious and I breath a sigh of relief.

He crackles. I jump from the outburst, adrenaline still pumping through my body, and take careful steps from the insane figure. The look in his eyes send tremors of fear down my spine. It's a hungry, raw, purely animalistic, and lewd stare that makes me want to run far, far away from his presence.

His caged head rests against the glass and a smirk slowly spreads across his scarred face. His eyes drift from my face, they linger on my heaving chest, and his smirk turns into a full out grin. My back hits the wall as he runs his taloned hand slowly against the cool wall, _"If anyones going to have any _**fun**_ with you, it's going to be _**me**_."_

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**A/N:** Would have put this up sooner, but OpenOffice was acting...lame the last couple of days. Thank you for the reviews, seriously, thank you. Next chapter will take a little longer to put out, since I've got a Government paper to start and finish. What can I say, I'm an unbelievable procrastinator when it comes to school work.

R&R


	3. Speechless

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Thirteen Ghosts, nor its characters.

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_It's been only two weeks since I've had contact with Ghost 11. I'm still not sure if I'm grateful for the break, his claim of me being his whore left me more than just a little disturbed. Last I heard, Jake had been dragged out the the basement and fired for sexual assault. Unfortunately, I couldn't press any charges seeing as it would have be a direct violation of my contract. I've been scheduled to be trapped in the basement once more, but not for a session with him. I do, however, have to pass by his room in order to get to my patient of the day._

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Secret Diary of Ghost 11

Session 3: Speechless

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I wince as I run a free hand through my hair, accidentally brushing against a bruise hidden beneath the thick mane of brown. There are bruises, around my neck and upper left arm, which are visible for the public eye to criticize, and I hide them as well as I can. Longer sleeved shirts with high collars, an army of scarfs, and layers of make-up are now essential items in my daily routine. Pushing the glasses against the bridge of my noise, I glance down at the papers in my grasp, they hold information about a new addition to Frost's unique collection.

Said ghost has been placed in hall J, cell 21.

The _same_ hall in which Ghosts 11 resides in.

My hand clenches around the paper and I run the free hand through my hair once more, a nervous habit I've never managed to suppress. His bizarre proclamation... had left me more than a bit freaked out. And, unfortunately, I couldn't ask Frost to remove me from his sessions, nor could I ask him to replace me with someone else. He'll only tell me that I've invested too much of my time, and his money, to just drop the ghost onto the lap of some inexperienced replacement and start all over.

Yet, I still cannot seem to erase his words from my mind, _his whore_, nor could I forget the way his eyes easily showed what he desired to do at that very moment.

It scares me.

Although I know he'll never be able to act upon those dark emotions and impulses, I can't help but feel terrified. All those horrible _what if_ scenarios are already running loose, and each unfortunate event is worse than the last.

"At this rate, I'll drive myself insane. " I mumble, shaking my head for clarity and take another look at the papers.

The new ghosts has been dubbed Ghost 26; it was a male and ranked at childhood level. Just what I need, another testosterone filled ghosts and, in addition to that, a CHILD ghost.

I've never been good with children. I'm always managing to say the wrong things and eventually they are bawling their little eyes out, screaming to their mothers that I had scared them. I wonder, sometimes, whether or not I was born with that motherly instinct my sister used to always preach about.

_"Every woman," _she would say, always carrying a child on her hip with her hair looking like a damn tornado had just passed by, _"is born with the mothering nature. It's ludicrous, you thinking that way. You're just too stiff around kids, you'll loosen up onces you've got your own." _

I mentally shake my head. Hell of a woman to be taking advice from, twenty-four and she's already been married and divorced twice with three children from God knows who. But that is a completely different story, and to be honest, I'd rather not dwell on her unfortunate life.

My steps stop short from the hall I'm suppose to walk through. 'I can do this,' I mentally prepare myself. All I have to do is walk straight past his cell and ignore the bastard until I'm well away from him. It sounds like a wonderful plan, however, it's much more easier said than done. My legs feel glued to the concrete floor, and although my mind continues to scream at them to move, they remain frozen.

With one last breath, I clutch the objects in my hand and walk forward. I can suddenly hear my own heartbeat ringing in my ears, my palms begin to sweat, and my chest tightens as my steps come closer towards _his_ room. From my peripheral vision, I can see his body slumped against the wall closer towards me. His back is facing me and I briefly feel relief wash over me, but it's quickly squashed as I notice him tense.

I pick up my pace when I catch him beginning to stand and turn. I no longer watch him, focusing my sight ahead of me and forcing myself to look as uninterested as possible. But I feel his presences, it suddenly makes itself unbelievable noticeable now. Still, however, I keep from glancing and I unintentionally bring my free hand to adjust the scarf around my neck.

He howls.

I cringe and, two steps away from being free of his gaze, I break. My head turns towards the inhumanly dark laugher and I sneer at the ghost. He's smirking, but his eyes are glued to the dark blue fabric around my neck. They abruptly jump to my face, I can't stop the tremor of fear that manages to travel throughout my entire body.

He's the epitome of the devil and that disgusting look on his face is the only evidence I need in order to make that judgment. My disdain deepens even after his haunting face is left behind. I sigh and brush back a loose lock of hair from my face, preparing myself for a new session.

I breath and exhale deeply, position myself into a professional state before stepping in front of the new ghosts room. I stare at the child sitting in the center of the cell. He's standing, pacing from corner to corner with an enraged look pasted on his features. He looks like he could be eight, nine tops. I wince at the sight of an arrow going through his head, but return to a stoic look as I tap lightly against the glass.

His head suddenly turns towards me and his anger is directed squarely at me. The bloody tomahawk in his grasp echoes throughout the basement as it makes contact with the cell barrier. He glares at me and strikes again, aiming at what seems to be my heart. I smirk at the miniature cowboy before me and kneel to his level.

"Sorry, kid, but that's not going to do you any good." He mimics my smirk and, once again, the tomahawk comes crashing down against the glass. I flinch away and return to a standing position. With a low sigh, I turn away and pull a chair close to his confinement. I open the notepad in my hand and glance briefly at the child. "Do you have a name? I don't really want you call you a number."

He scowls and does not answer.

"Fair enough," I whisper, jotting down his present condition and attitude. Over looking his appearance once again, I lay the notepad on my lap, cross my legs, and cock my head to the side. "Can I call you something?" He still does not answer. "Tell me something, are you a good guy or an outlaw?"

He fidgets and eventually shrugs his shoulders.

"I say...outlaw," I muse out loud, smiling and placing a finger on my lips. "So I'll call you Billy." I notice a gleam in his eye and his full attention is on me. "Billy the Kid, like in the Old West."

The child grins and shuffles away from me. He seems giddy at the mention of his nickname and I smirk to myself, writing a few more things down. _"I am Billy."_

His voice is soft, still childlike, and filled with something I couldn't quite put my finger on. I tap on the glance once more and he turns towards me, a haughty smirk painted on his lips. "Billy the Kid?"

He frowns, _"No. Billy. I am Billy."_

"Your name is Billy?" He nods. "Ah, I see. What are the odds, hmm? So, tell me, Billy, how old are you?"

Instead of using verbal words, he holds up the appropriate fingers. I nod and write down the new information. _"What are you doing?"_

I look up and find him staring at me, truly interested in what I'm doing. Just like a child to be curious, or nosy depending on your view of things. Giving him a small smile, I shrug lightly and hold up the notepad. "Just writing somethings down, mostly things that make you happy."

His face brightens, _"Things I like?"_

"Yup." I feel a slight ping of regret. Something tells me, tricking the poor child into believing I want to be his friend is going to bite me in the ass one day. "So, what do you like Billy? Cowboys and Indians?"

He nods vigorously and points at my pad, _"Write that down, now."_

I paste the most believable smile I can muster on my lips and write the insignificant comment to please the ghost. "Can you tell me when you died?" He frowns and shakes his head. I nod, "Would you please tell me how you died?"

His frown deepens, _"I thought you only wrote down things I like. I don't like talking about that."_

I try my best not to glare and give him a brief nod. "Okay, let's talk about something else?" He may be a child, but this one may be a bit harder to break.

Billy smirks and holds his head high. _"Hmph. I don't feel like talking."_

'Little brat,' I grip the pad in my grasp and smile. "Very well." I stand from my seat, I have what I need. A name is all I'm suppose to get out of a ghost during our first visit and I've completed that task. I push the chair away and throw the child another empty smile. "I have to go now, but I'll be back, soon, for another visit."

He suddenly looks panicked. _"No! Y-you can't leave me, here, alone!"_

I jump away from the shouting child. He looks scared, completely and utterly terrified. I thought the dead feared nothing, once dead there shouldn't be anything_ to_ fear. "Billy, calm down. There is nothing to be afraid of."

_"You're wrong!"_ he shots back. _"The Boogeyman's here!"_

Jeez, even dead kids are still a pain. I cross my arms in front of my chest and give him a reassuring smile, or at least I hope it seems that way. "There is no such thing as a Boogeyman, Billy. It's only a fairytale that parents make up to keep bratty kids in line."

_"NO!"_ he screams, pounding against the glass with his tomahawk. _"I __**saw**__ him."_ he hisses pointed at his eyes to emphasize.

"Did you?" I sigh and kneel in front of him, the terror in his features much more noticeable now. "What did he look like?"

Billy points down the corridor and his voice becomes a whisper. _"He's scary looking. The grown up called him a lunatic and an animal back...there."_ I make a mental note to ask where _there_ is for future sessions. _"His hair is wild and he has scary claw hands. He's wearing a jacket that only crazy people are forced to wear, Jean told me that. And he has a cage on his head and goes BANG BANG when he hits it against anything."_

The hair at the back of my neck stand on edge and I gulp. "You know him?" He nods. I press closer to the glass and stare at the child, "What's his name, Billy?"

He pauses and looks at each side, almost as if he were about to expose a taboo subject. _"Ryan, but the grown ups called him The Jackal."_

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**A/N:** Thank goodness for Spring Break, managed to get struck by the writing bug. Once again, thank you for the reviews. You don't know just how happy getting something makes me feel. If you've glanced at my profile recently, you'll know that there are four more chapters left, so expect things to get much more interesting and chapters a tad bit longer.

_R&R_


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